Shattered
by The Moon and The Sun
Summary: Even in the whispy cover of darkness, when she closed her eyes, he would always be there.  By Sun, Non-consensual lemon. You have been warned. One-sided Claire/Alpha


It always started here.

No matter how many hours Claire spent in the real world, when she closed her eyes,

she was always in the same place. And he was there, carved into her mind, sliced there

with such accuracy, such precision, he could never be erased.

Always waiting. Around every corner, every room, he was there.

Once again she was trapped. Lost, with no hope of ever being found.

"Whiskey." he whispered, jaw clenched. It was always like that, no matter how many

times she had repeated to him that her name was Claire Saunders, and she had no idea who Whiskey was. He taunted her with that name.

The fear was rising, pounding against her chest, fighting to get out. "I t-told you... my name is not Whiskey." he was too close... far too close.

"Interesting..." he was running his fingers over her scars now, caressing her.

"Pl-please... Alpha... s-stop..." her pleading was useless, the tears beginning to track down her cheeks, pouring.

"Why? Why should I?" he was angry now, his raw passion emanating from him, heat. It scared her, it always did.

"B-because you're hurting me." he grinned. "You haven't seen nothing yet, baby." suddenly adapting a southern accent, he shook his head, eyes once more focused on her. She shrunk away from him, huge eyes closing and batting, letting the tears fall. Alpha dug into his pocket and pulled out a knife, brandishing it, licking his lips.

He started with a small incision on her collar-bone, crying out in pain, feeling the damp warmth of blood. "Whiskey, can't you see that I'm testing you?"

"I don't see w-why." she sobbed.

"Well, maybe you should trying to figure that out." he was using the scalpel to cut away at her dress, not bothering with buttons.

"Pl-please." she steadied herself, "I need you to stop. Now." her voice was assertive, but he didn't bother to spare her a pause, just continuing to strip her down to a clean, white bra and a dark colored slip.

He laughed. "Have you always wanted to be a doctor?" Alpha asked while cutting at her stomach, hot crimson drizzling.

"Y-yes." she stuttered, wincing, "Of course." and tried to pry him away from her, but he tightened his grip.

"Don't really think you can even _try_ getting away from me," he was closer, breathing shallowly in her ear, "I'm always here, and there's nothing you can do." he crushed her against her wooden desk, slamming her into the drawer with such force, her sight blacked out for a moment. Panicked eyes fluttering open, vision swimming. Her slip was on the floor, only her bra and underwear remaining.

"Maybe if you tried to be your best just a _little_ harder..." he gripped her chest, feeling her, unwanted hands touching... probing. She screamed, but knew that no one could hear her.

Hands traveling lower...

"I d-don't want this... please."

"But, Whiskey, you always have before." her breath caught as his fingers found her opening.

"There is no before!" she clawed at the wood of the desk as he massaged her.

"You must have forgotten." Alpha shrugged casually, and got to his feet, wrapping his arms around her neck, kissing her so fiercely he drew blood from her lips. Raising the scalpel to eye level once more, he sliced a long, shallow line across her face. Adding to the already present scars, the skin parted revealing the pinkish flesh that lie underneath, blood drenching both heaving bodies.

Claire shrieked, pain flooding her nerves like fire running ramped through her skin.

Hot, salty tears stung the cut, making her cry more. She was hysterical, writhing away from him, sobbing and screaming. He licked the cut clean, lapping at it grotesquely, aroused by her cries.

"Oh, Whiskey..." he muttered in her ear, enthralled in her every being. Touching, darting, licking. Feeling every part of her, an audible moan burst through her blood-drenched lips, tears of shame falling generously. He pried at his pant-zipper, noticing now how uncomfortably tight they were.

Claire now discovered how cold and exposed she was, not shielded by the comfort of cotton or nylon, only her own flesh could hide her now, and she knew more than anyone he could easily strip that away. He was gripping her shoulders, and just as her knees felt as if they were about to buckle, he slammed her down flat on the desk. Her head slammed down hard, lolling to one side. She was dazed and confused, the pain wracking through her head, shuddering past her nerves and sloshing into her body, she was alert now. More than she wanted to be.

He shoved himself inside of her, burning exploding within her, the pain making her eyesight falter. Claire let out a sharp cry, then was silent, the slowly dripping tears talking for her.

"Just like old times, Whiskey." he whispered through gritted teeth, the sharp point of the scalpel still jutting into her stomach. She didn't reply, to pained to respond, too broken. He pumped in and out of her, pleasure on the tip of her tongue, but pain blinding any hope of that being vocalized. She was biting her lip to keep _that_ from ever happening... she still wanted to keep the fleeting bit of pride she still had, though it was now spiraling away from her, the growing orgasm threatening to be noticed. Once he had released inside of her, and the uncomfortably warm feeling was spreading through her, he pulled on his clothes.

"I wish we had more time." he whispered. She backed away finding that her clothes had been replaced and returned to their rightful place on her body, blood covering her face and hands, but lacking to stain her clothing. He walked out of the room, leaving her- not really, of course- because he was always there.

Claire Saunders awoke shrieking.

Sweat drenched her bed sheets, and the mysteriously tantalizing darkness tugged at her, making her draw her knees to her chin and sob. For the last month she had been plagued by the same dream, stalking her, looming in the blackness. She couldn't escape from it. She knew what she was... fake.

How can you live... how can you _breath _knowing that every thought that runs through your head was placed there by someone else?

That every memory you posses was fabricated into existence? Dates and names... all of them irrelevant... all of them lies.

And he had caused that.

If it wasn't for... him- it was hard for her even to think his name- than she would have her thoughts back... her personality alive. She wouldn't need to be a replacement after a 'technological anomaly' she would be... her, and that would be it.

But _he_ had left a mark on her...

_he_ had ruined her...

_h__e_ had shattered her, and they needed a doctor.

_Doll_.

That's all she was. Of course, the day he had returned- and taken Echo- was not a memory implanted by 'Lord Topher'. No, Alpha had been all too real...

and it was then when she let herself remember. Remember a memory she knew was her's.

/

Claire Saunders straightened her white lab coat. The nearly sterile walls were swimming around her, her vision was blurred with an unexpected onset of tears. They rolled down her cheek delicately, the flow of salty misery almost graceful upon the curves of her face, but the tears then found her scars and twisted away from them, writhing.

Her face was no longer a canvas for her emotions to paint as they wished, but a permanent reminder of the horrifying events that had mauled her beauty and tore her very being away from her. What others saw was what they got, and Claire Saunders was now a bloody mess of scarred flesh and tissue. She hated herself... for letting that- no, for letting him- ruin her. Alpha. She seated herself in her desk chair. Trying desperately to cover up the emotions that were coursing through her, organizing, straightening, fileing, anything to steady herself.

Just as she began to regain control, her ears caught a thundering crash, and what sounded like anguished cries... no, not anguish... battle cries seemed the more appropriate term. A fierce call rife with malice. She rose from her chair shakily. Realizing quickly that someone was in great need of immediate assistance, she bolted out of the room and toward the pods. She tripped slightly, catching herself on the banister that adorned the bridge, and took a heaving breath.

She was almost sure- no, positive- that something was gravely wrong... but what she saw was definantly not what she has expected. Victor was sitting up in his pod... or what used to be. The glass covering was shattered, and razor shards of it was poking into his pants, a scarlet stain beginning to form by his lower-thigh.

"Victor?" she gasped, "Wh- What happened?" she was struggling for air, knowing that something was very, very wrong. His dark eyes gazed up at her with perfect innocence, he seemed to be struggling with the right words. After some thought, he decidedly whispered,

"People were fighting on me." and gripped her hand tightly. Claire helped him up and slowly walked him to her office. All the while, she tried to comfort him at the same time, plaguing him with questions about the events that had taken place.

"Who did this? Who was fighting?" she used her delicate voice, slowly accentuating each syllable.

"A nice man... and a bad man. The bad man wanted Echo to go with him... but there was another man too... but I don't know him." his voice was empty, but somehow still conveying the panic.

"Did you know any of the other men though?" she question while keeping an assuring hand on his shoulder. He thought for a short moment,

"Echo's friend. The one who takes her to get her treatments. He is nice."

_Boyd_...

Mind racing, she continued, "Is Echo okay? Where did she go?"

"She is hiding. Echo is trying to be her best for her friend..." he paused, "Was I my best, Dr. Saunders?" She sighed,

"Of course." Claire led Victor to her examining table, gently removing each shard of glass, trying to cause as little pain as possible, but he still winced sharply each time. A floor-board creaked outside her office and a sick feeling filled her alreading turning stomach. Reassuring herself, she briskly walked to her desk to retrieve a roll of bandages for Victor's leg, she was stopped by the sharp cry rising from behind her.

Head spinning, she turned, only to find the sight she _knew_ she would see. Victor crumpled on the carpeted floor, holding his face, thick gore drizzling from between his closed fingers. She could only muster one, breathless word.

"Alpha."

Before she could shriek, he had pinned her to the desk, hand clamped tightly around her mouth. The tears she had been desperately trying to hide exploded generously from her eyes, and she writhed and kicked. He raised a glinting silver blade to her throat, she cringed.

"Are you going to scream?" he whispered as the frigid metal pressed lightly against her neck, she shivered and shook her head, huge brown eyes pleading with him to release her. "Good." he said, and removed both his hand and the blade, taking a step back, but arms still locked around her, daring her to try to run.

"I see you kept my gifts..." he continued, lightly- almost lovingly- running his fingers across the scars. Caressing her cheeks, then bringing down his hand to form an iron-grip on her throat.

"Yes, of course," he answered for her, "Now you." he brought her head up and down, forcing her to nod.

"Ye- Yes," she choked through thick tears, "Of course." She was felt darting helplessness fill her, and she thought what she always knew she would end up thinking.

_I am going to die_.

Alpha's body was pressed heavily on hers, icy eyes boring into warm, brown ones. "Now, I'm going to ask you some questions." she nodded as the tears slowed and turned into empty sobs. "And your going to answer truthfully, alright?" he muttered into her ear, placing the knife once again against her throat.

"Ye- Yes." He tore away from her and seated himself on her desk. She stumbled.

"Have you always wanted to be a doctor?" The question struck her as odd. She had always been a doctor... always here.

"Yes. Of course." he reacted violently, nearly tackling her onto the desk, making a gash across her arm, slashing the fabric of her lab coat.

"That's a lie!" he breathed between his teeth, and her face twisted into an attempt to make a horrified scream, but his hand was clamped once again over her mouth. Blood was drizzling slowly down the front of her dress. The cut wasn't deep, but long and deliberate. Tears fell now, heavy and thick, disregarding the scars and pouring from her already red eyes.

"Next question." she whimpered beneath his hand. "When did we first meet?" he let go of her lips.

"I- I was working here an- and..." she swallowed, "You were brought by yo- your handler for me t- to examine you."

"Did you examine me thoroughly? Every inch?" he brought himself closer to her, she sobbed harder.

"Ye- Yes." she sniffed, he laughed.

"And was I in perfect condition? Healthy?"She nodded vigorously.

"Interesting." he noted, and drew the blade up her collar-bone, leaving a long scarlet gash. Victor whimpered on the floor, trying to sit up. Alpha shot him an icy glare and he immediately returned to the fetal position.

"I've missed you, Whiskey."

"Wha-" And he kissed her. Crushing his mouth against her's violently, feverishly grabbing at her hair and forcing her head towards his. Claire let out a muffled cry, but not loud enough to alert anyone of the impending danger. He could taste tears and the copper metallic taste of blood. He had bitten her lip in his haste. She was becoming non-responsive now, no more struggles or yells, she had given up, and he had won. His left hand snaked it's way up her back placing her in a death-grip. She froze.

"Why so tense?" he whispered in her ear, "We've done this before."

"I don't know w- what you're talking about!" she sobbed, voice shaking, tasting the blood on her lips.

"You wouldn't, would you?" and his mouth found hers again. He paused, hearing movement from outside of the office.

"I wish we had more time." he whispered into her ear, hot breath leaving a mark on her like steam on a window. He kissed her cheek, surprisingly gently, and threw her back on the desk.

"Goodbye, Whiskey." he muttered as he walked- almost calmly- out the door. She let herself crumple to the floor. Claire hitched up the shoulder of her dress and straightened her lab coat, now decorated with splashes of deep crimson.

_He_ had been here,

and _he_ had hurt Victor... and her. Why was she just laying here?

"Help!" she yelled frantically, stumbling into the main room, still regaining the use of her limbs.

"WE NEED HELP NOW!" she was screaming, her body becoming more and more sluggish, and collapsed onto the bridge.

_Once again_, she mused, _he has gone and left me shattered_.

/

And she sobbed into the comfort of her pillow, waiting for a dreamless sleep that would never come.


End file.
